


Little Red Riding Hood(ie)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: For trigger 3: "No one really dies."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Little Red Riding Hood(ie)  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)**keepaofthecheez**  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean   
**Rating:** R - language  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Word Count:** 1, 399  
**Disclaimer:** Don’t own, don’t sue.   
**Summary:** For trigger 3: “No one really dies.”  
**Spoilers:** Nah…not really.  
**Notes:** God, I...don't even know what this is. It was supposed to be kind of angsty and then metamorphised into...whatever the heck this is. Heh.  
  
  
  
Sometimes Dean feared that the creatures of the night were starting to slack off.   
  
This was the fifth time in as many weeks that he and Sam had found themselves neck-deep in doo-doo – sometimes more literally than Dean cared to admit – and while that was annoying enough as it was, defeating the baddies and playing hero to those who were none the wiser was starting to get ridiculously easy.  
  
Case in point…  
  
He ducked a tree branch – a goddamn _tree branch_ \- that their latest nemesis, a lone werewolf whom they’d tracked through the hills and woods of southern Minnesota, threw at his head, barely refraining an eyeroll. “Oh, come _on_ ,” he grumbled, ripe and ready for a fight. “You’re making it hard to pump you full’ve silver, Toto. God, my late Aunt Darlene had more fight in her arthritic pinky-toe than you—”  
  
The werewolf howled, neck bristling as he charged Dean at full speed. Dean blinked, diving into a running-roll and coming up on his feet a few yards away.   
  
“Well, that’s more like it.” He lifted his shotgun, conveniently packed with the silver bullets Sam had painstakingly melted down from whatever goods he’d scavenged from the antique shop downtown. “I’m really sorry about this…well, actually I’m not. You’re all…hairy, and you smell like shit. Plus, you like to eat people, and that’s just not cute.”  
  
“Christ Dean, just shoot the damn thing and quit fucking around with it,” Sam’s irritated voice sounded from somewhere behind him, and Dean tossed his younger brother a playful smirk.  
  
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy, where’s your sense of adventure?”  
  
“Back in the motel sleeping,” Sam muttered, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of a well-worn red hoodie as he fought against a jawbreaking yawn. “Which is where I’d really like to be myself.”  
  
Dean sighed, turning back to the half-man, half-wolf with a mock sigh of resignation. “You heard the boss,” he said in a carrying tone, expertly cocking the gun with one hand and aiming for the heart. “Say hi to Cujo for me.”  
  
And then, quite simply, all hell broke loose.  
  
The trees around the two Winchesters came to life in an explosion of movement and snarling hisses, and Dean had just enough time to lay his finger on the trigger and send a bullet hurtling into the werewolf’s chest before spinning around to confront whatever new danger had found them.  
  
Sam was waving his deadly curved KA-BAR, no longer standing idly by as he exchanged a short glance with Dean. “Lone wolf, huh?”  
  
“Well, fuck me,” Dean grumbled, pulse rate picking up as he studied the encroaching wolf pack. “The attack patterns never signified more than one—”  
  
“You are _never_ doing research by yourself again!” Sam hissed, walking over slowly to Dean. The two brothers stood back-to-back, knife and shotgun at the ready as the werewolves drew closer, completely untimidated by the show of human bravado.  
  
“I bet you were macking on some chick,” Sam added in disgust, only a slight wobble in his tone betrayed the tense situation.   
  
“Was not,” Dean muttered, aiming for the closest creature. “Okay, fine, there was _one chick_ …but man, she was wearing the sweetest little red get-up you’ve ever laid eyes on.”  
  
“I bet your eyes weren’t all you laid on it.”  
  
“Kinky, bro.”  
  
They fell silent then, only the sounds of hitched breathing and animalistic grunts filling the cool September air. Dean could feel Sam’s anxiety, knew his brother was waiting same as he for the sons of bitches to make the first move.   
  
A shiver of excitement crept up his spine. They had nine silver bullets; Dean couldn’t afford to make a mistake.  
  
“Fucking red skirt,” he muttered, stretching his neck as he and Sam turned in a slow circle. “Sam, next time? Spank me if I get that look in my eye.”  
  
“Oh, with pleasure.” The innuendo deepening his brother’s voice sent chills of a different sort down Dean’s spine.   
  
The nearest werewolf leaped at them, claw outstretched in a deadly swipe. Metal glinted through the air as Sam retaliated with a sharp swing of the knife, slicing through bone and muscle like butter.   
  
Dean landed a slug in the creature’s chest, already turning to aim for the next in the attack. On and on it went, and his adrenaline started to swell as together he and Sam made short work of the wolf pack.  
  
He was down to two bullets and a particularly nasty werewolf when he heard Sam’s sharp groan seconds before a sickening crunch echoed. Dean’s fingers twitched on the trigger, the need to spin around and check on Sam nearly overwhelming his own duty.  
  
It was sheer luck that gave him the opening, when the wolf he was battling got a bit too excited and rushed him at just the right angle for Dean to shoot the sucker right in the fucking heart. Black blood began to spill from the gaping hole in the were’s chest, but Dean didn’t pause to wait for the creature to keen its last dying moan.  
  
Eyes wide, he stared at the place he’d last seen his brother, heart threatening to come out of his chest as the fresh fingernail tracks on the ground mocked him. The sweet-sour scent of blood filled Dean’s nostrils, and he blinked slowly before looking down to find a nasty cut bubbling on his forearm.  
  
His knees buckled. “Sam?” he yelled, spinning around as if he half-expected his baby brother to come tearing out of the forest at any time. He called Sam’s name again, slightly louder and more hysterical, dropping the useless rifle to the ground as he ran over to where Sam had fallen.  
  
The curved blade gleamed in the moonlight, slicked with blood. Dean brought the knife to his nostrils, shaking as he breathed in the scent while praying for that easily-identifiable odor that would signify it as belonging to a werewolf.  
  
Instead, it was faint and coppery and very much _Sam_.  
  
Dean half-ran, half-crawled through the woods, yelling his brother’s name at the top of sore lungs as tears of hysteria stung his eyes. Numb legs followed barely visible tracks until he came to small clearing at the north end of the woods.  
  
A crumpled body, disturbingly familiar, lay in the center, head twisted at an impossible angle and Dean fell forward on a gasp. He vomited, hands on his knees and the vision of his brother’s fallen form spiraling through blurry vision. “Jesus Christ…Sam…”   
  
“Dean.” The sound was faint, but there, and Dean whipped his head around, face streaked with blood and sweat and tears.  
  
“Sam?” he called out again, voice deep and raspy with hope and anguish.  
  
He found Sam a moment later, laying against a rock, cradling his leg and a second knife he’d stashed in a holster at his ankle. The silver flashed as Sam moved, looking up at Dean’s approach, expression set in grim relief. “Barely got the fucker.”  
  
They both looked over to the now-decaying corpse, the form rapidly dissolving back into its human form that Dean had mistaken as…  
  
He mouthed soundlessly for long seconds, then just sort of plopped down on the ground. One minute he was staring at Sam, the next his brother was in his arms and he knew he was squeezing too damn hard but he couldn’t help himself.  
  
“Goddamn…” he trailed off when his voice broke, nuzzling Sam’s neck as his brother’s arms came up to pat him on the back. “Gonna fucking kill you m’self,” he mumbled, lips pressing into the salty-rough patch of skin leading to Sam’s collarbone. They moved lower, across a rip in cotton and finding a purpling bruise on Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, Sammy,” he murmured, still crushing his brother against his chest as relief, nauseating in its intensity, weighed down upon him. He couldn’t seem to stop touching Sam, everywhere, hands and fingers questing up and down his brother’s body in the desperate need to reassure himself that Sam was alive. Unhurt. _With_ him.  
  
Sam coughed, shifting in Dean’s arms, and making a half-hearted push against Dean’s chest. “You got that look in your eye again.”  
  
Dean froze, pulling back to find his brother staring at him, teeth flashing in the moonlight. His heart skipped a beat, and then a choked laugh erupted from his chest before he broke out in a grin. “Fuck you,” he managed, feeling overly emotional and… _girly_ , for Christ’s sake. Eyeing Sam’s crimson hoodie, he murmured, “You’re not wearing a red skirt, so I guess you’re safe.”  
  
Sam’s lips pulled back in a naughty smirk, as if to say _Yeah right, fucker_ , and Dean suddenly couldn’t wait to get back to the motel and find out if it was true what the Brothers Grimm had written about wolfish grins.


End file.
